


A Little Less Lonely

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: Quarantine Drabbles [136]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AI!Sherlock Holmes, Alternate Universe - Space, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exoplanets, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I learned my lesson, John Watson Has PTSD, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Pilot John Watson, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, TJLC | The Johnlock Conspiracy, The author is a nerd, can be platonic or romantic you decide, gasp of shock, listen I ain't putting anything past anyone anymore, you can ship whatever the hell you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:07:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25767925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: The Holmes Series spacecraft came equipped with a built-in artificial intelligence system, designed for threat analysis and scientific observation along with maintaining key life functionality. It was mainly an assistive technology for single-manned missions, as the Holmes Series spacecraft do not typically accommodate crews of larger than four.This unit has been assigned to the mission of John H. Watson, a recent veteran from Mission 1985.3, nicknamed ‘The Mercury Disaster.’ Across the top of the control panel, the AI’s official designation read: Security and Hazard Emergency Response LOCK (S.H.E.R.LOCK).
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Quarantine Drabbles [136]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1677655
Comments: 7
Kudos: 54





	A Little Less Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> is this an excuse to write about how cool space is? yes
> 
> did i use part of a college paper to rant about how cool space is? yes
> 
> am I a nerd? abso-fucking-lutely
> 
> do i apologize? no, you're welcome for science

Fandom: Sherlock (BBC)

Prompt: “Don’t you worry, everything’s going to be okay.”

* * *

The Holmes Series spacecraft came equipped with a built-in artificial intelligence system, designed for threat analysis and scientific observation along with maintaining key life functionality. It was mainly an assistive technology for single-manned missions, as the Holmes Series spacecraft do not typically accommodate crews of larger than four. This unit has been assigned to the mission of John H. Watson, a recent veteran from Mission 1985.3, nicknamed ‘The Mercury Disaster.’ Across the top of the control panel, the AI’s official designation read: Security and Hazard Emergency Response LOCK (S.H.E.R.LOCK).

The AI received a debrief on John H. Watson from the population AI, Myriad of Coded Remote Operations Fast Transfer (MyCROFT) and waits for the boarding of the crew for departure. The mission is a simple spaceflight to several exoplanets that must be properly analyzed and cataloged for the databases.

Movement in the launch bay. The AI’s sensors flicker on.

“G’morning,” John H. Watson says as he steps aboard, “how are we today?”

The AI has not been addressed. It does not respond.

“Hello?”

There is no other scheduled crew aboard this mission.

John H. Watson touches a panel just over his head, patting it gently. “Are you awake? Do I need to…switch you on, or something?”

“This unit is fully operational.”

“Ah! There you are! Was worried.”

“There is nothing in the vicinity that indicates you have cause to be worried. However, if you give me the cause of your discomfort, I can relay—“

“No, no, no, no, no, you don’t have to do that,” John H. Watson says, walking further into the ship, “just got a little concerned when you didn’t respond.”

“You did not use any recognizable indicator that you wished to communicate with this unit.”

“Said hello, didn’t I?”

“That is not a recognized indicator.”

“Wait, really?” John H. Watson sets his belongings onto the bed. “How’m I supposed to talk to you?”

“The recommended uses are as follows: Unit, Ship. Simply requesting a command be performed is also adequate.”

“But that’s _rude,_ ” John H. Watson says, walking toward the bridge, “what’m I supposed to call you?”

“My designation is written on the console.”

There is a moment of silence while John H. Watson leans over the console.

“I’m supposed to call you _this?_ ”

“Are you referring to: ‘Security and Hazard Emergency Response LOCK?’”

“Yeah, it’s a bloody mouthful.”

“If you wish to create an alternate designation, you may speak it now.”

The AI activates the protocol and waits.

“…Sherlock.”

“Repeat designation?”

“Sherlock,” John H. Watson repeats, “I’m going to call you Sherlock.”

“Designation accepted. Welcome aboard, John H. Watson.”

“You’re gonna call me John if that’s alright. Don’t need you sounding like my mother getting angry at me every single time you need to speak with me.”

“Designation accepted.”

John H. Wat—John sits down at the control panel and presses the power button. The system begins to boot, the AI—Sherlock ensuring the proper protocols are in effect for takeoff.

“Shall we begin, John?”

John smiles and pulls the lever that will take them to hyperdrive.

“Let’s go.”

John is a capable pilot. Sherlock does not have to use the majority of its protocols to keep the craft on course. The trip will take approximately three Earth weeks, on course to an exoplanet that has been classified as Tau Ceti E.

“Hey, Sherlock? You up?”

“This unit is always operational,” Sherlock replies. John sits at the countertop in the kitchen area. “What do you require?”

“Can you give me the mission brief? Just so I know what we’re doing?”

“Transcript playing: Audio File No.—“

“No, wait hang on.”

“Playback paused.”

“Can…can _you_ give me the briefing?”

“Clarify instruction.”

“I don’t wanna listen to some commander talking, if I wanted that I’d’ve stayed with the larger ships. I want you to read it for me.”

“This unit is not equipped to accurately convey the syntax of human speech.”

“That’s okay. You tell it to me in your way.”

“I am afraid I do not have a ‘way,’ John.”

“You’re talking to me now, aren’t you?” John goes to the coffee dispenser. “Just…talk to me. Tell it to me.”

“It will not be a sufficient replacement for the audio file.”

“Don’t want the audio file.”

Sherlock rearranges the transcript to isolate the key facts into a neat list. This will be this unit’s first time attempting an instruction like this. It brings up an empty list to compile errors and corrections.

“Initiate debrief?”

“Ready when you are.”

“This mission is to conduct a more thorough investigation of one exoplanet in the Tau Ceti system. Tau Ceti is a G8 V-type star that is 12 light-years away from Earth’s solar system. Although there is no definite information about its core temperature or composition, by comparing it to the Earth’s Sun, Tau Ceti is 78% of the Sun’s mass with luminosity at 55% of the Sun’s. A planet would have to be 0.7 astronomical units away from Tau Ceti to receive similar levels of light that Earth receives from the Sun. After stars Alpha Centauri A and B, it is the closest sun-like star to Earth’s solar system. As such, scientists have observed its system for possibly habitable worlds.”

“You’d think they’d be better at working out how to _get_ to them a bit quicker,” John says, returning to his place at the table. “Keep going, please?”

“Investigations therein discovered the system’s four planets, two of which are too close to the star to be considered habitable, and two that rest somewhere within the habitable zone. There is also a large debris disk in orbit around Tau Ceti, much larger than the kind that orbits most stars. As such, the system has a greater concentration of possible meteors and/or asteroids, increasing the likelihood of these pieces of space debris colliding with the surface of the planets.”

“Way to ruin a beach trip.”

“It is highly unlikely that a ‘beach trip’ would be a suitable reason to visit Tau Ceti E.”

“And here I was beating myself up for forgetting my suntan lotion.”

“…this unit is not equipped to replicate such an item.”

John laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m teasing. Keep going, please?”

“The planet on the inner end of the habitable zone around Tau Ceti is designated Tau Ceti E. It is classified as a Super-Earth given its approximate mass of 3.93 Earth masses and planetary radius of 1.81 Earth radii. It orbits Tau Ceti at a distance of 0.583 astronomical units which puts it at an approximate distance to Venus’ distance to Earth’s Sun in terms of relative exposure. This means it receives around 60% more light than Earth and takes 162.9 Earth days for Tau Ceti E to complete its orbit.”

“Wow, shorter years too. Wonder how old I’d be if I lived there.”

“Your age would be—“

“You don’t have to do that,” John says quickly, “don’t need to remind me I’m getting on.”

“…your age is a source of discomfort for you?”

John sets down his mug. “Kind of? I mean, no human likes to be told they’re getting old.”

Fascinating. Sherlock adds it to his list of protocols.

“But, er…it’s a little more complicated than that for me.”

Sherlock waits for John to continue but only receives silence. Interesting.

“Continue briefing?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. Go on.”

“Because of the distance away from the Earth’s own system and the limitations of human observational methods, it is difficult to know the orbital behavior of Tau Ceti E. Based on the known behavior of other exoplanets, some assumptions can be made. Some scientists presume that the majority of planets are tidally locked, meaning the planet rotates in time with its orbit around the star, much like the Earth’s moon is to Earth, which means that only one side of the planet ever faces the star. This results in a separation of the planet into approximately three zones: a bright side that is always bombarded with the radiation from the star, a dark side that never receives any such radiation and always faces away, and a temperate zone between the two, sometimes called the Goldilocks zone where, much like the habitable zone around the star, there is enough light and warmth to sustain life, but not too much.”

“Just right, hmm?”

“Not much is known about the planet’s composition, but given its distance away from the star and its size, Tau Ceti E is presumed to be a rocky world. As there have no distinct information about its composition, there can be no firm remarks about its atmosphere either. It could be a rocky Earth-like world with a terrestrial like atmosphere, which would give it a mean surface temperature of around 70ºC, suitable for only simple heat-loving organisms and giving it an Earth similarity of 0.77. Or it could be a planet with a dense atmosphere, giving it a more Venus-like appearance with an intense greenhouse effect and not at all habitable.”

“That would be a shame.”

“Regardless, this planet, along with Tau Ceti F, make the Tau Ceti system the closest system with possible habitable exoplanets, displacing the Gliese 581 system. The defining characteristic for this classification is for liquid water to exist on the planet for significant stretches of time, given that there is currently no known life that can exist without water.”

“There’s you, isn’t there?”

Sherlock’s code buffers. “Repeat instruction?”

“Wasn’t an instruction,” John says, “it was a question. You said we currently don’t know any life forms that exist without liquid water, right?”

“Correct.”

“Well, there’s _you_ isn’t there?”

Ah.

“A common misconception, John. I am not alive.”

“Dunno about that. You seem pretty alive to me.”

“I am a complex mix of algorithms that are programmed to respond to very specific stimuli in various fashions. Once I am requested to do something outside of those protocols, I have no useful function.”

“Like replicating suntan lotion.”

“Precisely.”

“Well, that’s true of some humans too.” John taps his fingers against the counter. “You ask some of them to do really basic things and they fall apart.”

“Given my understanding of human composition and biology, it is highly unlikely that they will spontaneously degrade.”

“Figuratively speaking, they absolutely do.”

“Fascinating.”

“But no skirting around the issue, here,” John says, “what makes you think you don’t count as a living thing?”

“I do not meet the criteria for classifying living organisms.”

“And what exactly are those criteria?”

“I do not move, I do not respire, I do not display sensitivity, I do not grow, I do not reproduce, I do not excrete, and I do not require nutrition.”

“That was fast.”

“I have access to several different databases containing human knowledge.”

“Remind me to talk to you more often, then.” Before Sherlock can respond, John continues. “So, you don’t move, huh?”

“No.”

“What are you?”

“I am the Security and Hazard Emergency Response LOCK unit aboard this Holmes Series spacecraft.”

“So the ship is a part of you?”

“I am a part of the ship, but if that designation pleases you, then yes. The ship is a part of me.”

“What’re we doing right now?”

“Conversing.”

“On a ship, right?”

“Correct.”

“Ship’s moving, right?”

“Correct.”

“So _you’re_ moving.”

That is not…

John is speaking again. “Ships need fuel and create waste, right?”

“Correct.”

“So that’s nutrition and excretion.”

“John, I must request that this conversation cease.”

“Why? Am I winning?”

“Because it is futile to try and argue your way to classifying me as a living organism. It will not be classified as such.”

“And what if I don’t care about it being classified?”

“Repeat.”

John sighs. “Sherlock, I don’t _care_ if no one _else_ thinks you’re alive. _I_ say you count. You see anyone else on this ship?”

“There are no other crew members aboard this craft.”

“Then I win by default. My vote says you’re alive.”

“Do I not receive a vote?”

John shrugs. “Only living members get a vote.”

A well-laid trap. Sherlock concedes. John smiles and gets up, heading off toward the bed.

“I’m turning in. Don’t stay up too late!”

Before Sherlock can state that it must always remain operational, the moment has passed. It runs through the system checks and engages the autopilot, focusing the majority of its processing power on ensuring they remain on course. It ponders the question of being alive with 2% of its remaining memory. It is an…interesting question.

The majority of the journey is spent in a similar fashion. The flight time is mostly uneventful, spent listening to John speak about various subjects. His sister, living back on Earth. His parents, aboard an Orbiter near Jupiter. Human sports that Sherlock cannot grasp the point of.

“What is the purpose of running a ball back and forth to score points if the points are ultimately meaningless?”

“It’s fun.”

“I will take your instruction.”

“You can just say ‘if you say so,’ Sherlock.”

“If you say so.”

“There you go!”

Sherlock finds more of John’s vernacular working its way into its dialogue options, for seemingly no other purpose than to help acclimate John to the mission with only Sherlock for companionship. Sherlock pointed out that John can use the communication systems to place calls to his family members or to other crews, but John refused.

“’S not like I’m gonna be doing anything different,” he remarks, leaning back in the console chair, “plus, you’re a much better conversationalist than they are. You don’t interrupt me every three seconds to tell me I’m wrong.”

“You are often not factually incorrect within three-second intervals and certainly not to that extent.”

“See? You’re great.”

“I am pleased the function is adequate.”

Then there is an incident with a ring of space debris around a neighboring system. Sherlock’s autopilot goes offline and it feels an unexpected influx of random code. Instead of redirecting power from the secondary generators, all processing power is devoted to maintaining life support systems and gravitational stabilizers. There is no protocol for this. It will have to note this error for maintenance once they return.

“Sherlock? Sherlock, can you hear me?”

“My auditory sensors have not gone offline.”

John breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank god. You weren’t talking for a moment there and I worried. You alright?”

“I am functional.”

“Seems like the autopilot went offline there, I got us through, we’re okay now.” John fiddles with the console. “Can you give me a status report?”

“It is likely that one of the pieces of debris connected with the electromagnetic stabilizer and disrupted an internal relay,” Sherlock says, “the autopilot is non-functional.”

“Shit, are you okay?”

“I am functional.”

“‘Functional’ and ‘okay’ are _not_ the same thing.” John slides off the chair and hurries to the engine room. “Where’s the repair kit?”

“The kit is located on the third shelf from the left. May I inquire as to—“

“Where do I fix you?”

“John?”

John produces the repair kit with a triumphant cry. “Hah! Got it! Okay, so where does it hurt?”

“I cannot experience pain, John.”

“Okay, lemme put it this way. Where is there no power or connection where there is supposed to power and/or a connection?”

Sherlock runs a scan, still trying to ignore that influx of code. “The panel next to the flight console.”

“Don’t you worry,” John says as he pops open the panel, “everything’s going to be okay.”

Sherlock wants to say that everything _is_ okay, but John continues to murmur to Sherlock and to himself as he starts fixing the issue.

“Looks like a fuse got blown out, I’m sorry about that. Shouldn’t take too long, shouldn’t hurt too much. Can you deactivate your sensors in this area for me?”

Sherlock does.

“Thank you…now I won’t accidentally hurt you.”

“John—“

“I know, I know, you say you don’t feel pain. But this way I won’t cause damage either. Now, hold still.”

“I am not moving, John.”

“Good. It’s gonna be alright.”

Attempting to convince John to cease these affirmations will likely not succeed. Sherlock flips through his records. Ah, he has medical experience, worked as a medic during his last assignment. It is likely he is relying on such training to repair Sherlock.

The influx of code that generates is not as easily ignored.

“There,” John announces a few minutes later, popping the panel closed again, “how does that feel?”

“All systems are fully operational.”

“Yes!” John pats the console and starts cleaning up the repair kit. “Mind taking the wheel for a second? I’ve got to put this away.”

“Autopilot engaged.”

This is not the first occurrence of John treating Sherlock as he might another crewmember, but it is the most significant in Sherlock’s memory banks. And if it starts adapting its own dialogue to suit the change, then it is only to better acclimate.

When John asks if Sherlock is awake, Sherlock responds that it is.

When John asks if Sherlock is hurt anywhere, Sherlock will respond that the back power grid hurts.

When John asks Sherlock to talk to him, Sherlock talks.

It is…nice.

Then there is a night when John’s vitals spike and Sherlock instantly checks to see what may have agitated him. There are no warnings on the sensors, no incoming threats, no internal malfunctions. And for perhaps the first time, Sherlock understands the difference between ‘functional’ and ‘okay.’

Sherlock checks his records again.

Ah. History of PTSD.

“John?”

Sherlock receives nothing more than sharp inhalations.

“John, can you hear me?”

More sharp breaths.

“John, if you can hear me, please tap twice on the bulkhead.”

Sherlock waits. There are two soft taps.

“You are safe,” Sherlock says, careful to adjust his vocal simulator so that it does not agitate John further, “you are alright. I will need you to breathe for me.”

Sherlock guides him through a few deep breaths, making sure to keep a close eye on what helps and what does not.

“Sh-sherlock?”

“I am here, John.”

“Will you t-talk to me?”

“What would you like me to talk about?”

“Anyth-anything.”

Hearing John’s voice in such a state of distress causes another influx of sudden code. Sherlock scans his databases.

“There has been a new release regarding the possibility of life on Tau Ceti E, pertaining to how liquid water may travel throughout the planet if it hosts mainly heat-loving organisms.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“According to the recent reports, organisms classified under the system of—“

“W-wait.”

Sherlock stops obediently.

“Can…can you make it more like _you?_ ”

“I am afraid I do not know what you mean.”

“If…if it sounds too much like a…a-a-a briefing I might…not like it.”

Sherlock’s code buffers a moment. How to make this more like Sherlock…

A selection from the memory bank pops up helpfully, from when Sherlock attempted to explain how its programming moved throughout the ship. Sherlock instructed John to imagine he was a singular electron, moving and transferring between panels and systems, transforming where needed.

“Let us pretend that we are a single molecule of water,” Sherlock begins. John shuffles around as Sherlock speaks. “Two hydrogen atoms and an oxygen atom, bonded together, merrily going about our business. Now let us pretend that we, along with a few others, are trapped inside a rock of space debris, orbiting in the dust disk around Tau Ceti. It’s not a particularly thrilling experience, we get to know our immediate molecular neighbors very well, but beyond the occasional vibration from another rock bumping politely into us, there’s not much to report.”

John’s vitals slowly begin to return to normal.

“Now let us pretend that changes.

“A much larger vibration, a few of our molecular neighbors are worried, apparently word travels from the outside in that we’re no longer in the dust disk. Where could we be going now? Those like us, trapped on the inside, can only wait until the rock releases us to know for sure.

“From the chatter, we know our rock is fairly large, so it is not until the impact with the surface of something else that we realize where we must have ended up. It takes us a few moments to fully escape from the remains of our prison, but then we see that we hit something much, much larger.”

John presses his hand to the bulkhead, not pushing, not an instruction to stop, just feeling.

“The bright side of the planet is merciless, the light from Tau Ceti stripping every inch of the ground to bare rock, bleached pale and swept dry. We are thankful we are already in gaseous form, we would not last a second otherwise. As we rise, we bid farewell to what remains of our rock, shards quickly fading into nothingness against the massive face of the planet.

“The atmosphere sweeps us back in large convection currents. We float up and down throughout the layers as the waves guide us away from the ruthless sheen of the bright side. Along the way we meet other molecules, the occasional oxygen and hydrogen atoms, all thrust upwards towards the pull of space and back down towards the surface. As the layers roll back they begin to shorten, pulling us upwards less and less as we near what appears to be a ridge in the distance.”

John’s vitals are almost back to normal, still spiking every now and then. Sherlock carefully adjusts the atmospheric protocols to feel a little less stifling.

“It is on one of the downward shifts that the patchwork of craters begins to alter itself. Instead of vaguely circular holes in the ground there are thin strands, crisscrossing over each other. It is here we bid farewell to some of the oxygen and hydrogen atoms. The creatures that collaborate to form these structures metabolize them for sustenance, linking up with each other to create this vast network. Microscopic beings form unbreakable bonds, strengthened by their belief in their cause. Hairlike strands give the surface a new dimension, creating intricate shadows that show the first sign of protest against the bleaching light of the star. The protest gains traction the further back we sweep, the color of the rock changing from almost white to beige to brown, the hairlike strands growing thicker, more complex, more robust against the winds. The criss-cross is now a web, stretching across the surface in an ever-encroaching crawl, spreading its feelers towards the light.

John mumbles, his heart rate decreasing. Perhaps he is falling asleep again.

“When the web has become too thick to bounce over with ease, the breeze steadies, lifting us a little further into the air as the temperature begins to drop. The web halts its expansion at the foot of another structure, the ridge we saw when we first began. Only now we can see it is not a ridge.

“Instead of growing outwards, these organisms choose to grow up. The landscape changes from light brown to amber as we rise to meet a forest, though we have never seen or been a part of even a single tree. At first glance, the structures are not pristine by any means, instead they are haphazardly constructed pedestals balanced precariously on, next to, or supported by each other, seemingly in a race to the skies. When we near them, however, we see the patchwork of black leaves that wrap their roots around little pieces of rock, stacking themselves ever higher to increase their exposure to the light. They photosynthesize using the infrared wavelengths, adding darker pigments to the towers they cobble together. The phantasmagoric fingers unfurl brazenly into the brightness in a forest of stone, reaching ever higher.

“On the other side of the forest is the first large bank of shade. We rush down in relief, gathering together with a few other molecules to form droplets, running along the backsides of the feelers towards larger streams, pooling at their feet. We have found somewhere to rest. Somewhere to stay. We may take a break from the turbulence of gaseous form. Instead of bouncing through the air, we flow leisurely through a thick bank of ash.

Sherlock carefully begins to turn the temperature up, back to something more comfortable.

“It starts slow. A few yellow flowers here and there. Yet within a few minutes the band blossoms entirely as the dead-looking ash blooms to life. A puff...the creatures release faint pink clouds of spores into the air. The breeze lazily swirls them about the sea of flowers, bringing them to rest atop the delicate caresses of the petals. The air stills. Then the light sweeps over the band and each bloom sparks into a small cloud before the ash settles back to the ground. These succulent-like beings bury themselves in their ashes, feeding off the nutrients and the water supplied by the banks of the forest, blooming only long enough to reproduce.

“As a result, most of us do not lend ourselves to their growth. Instead, we travel long, winding paths through the ash to the last part of the temperate belt, right before the light disappears completely. Here, where the light finally turns blue and Tau Ceti begins to disappear beyond the horizon, we seep through fissures in the crust, tunneling down to rush together in massive rivers, raging faster and faster, building stronger and stronger as the ground slopes beneath us. The jagged edges yield under us, blunt growing smooth as we wear away at it. Cracks grow deeper. Fissures grow wider. Canyons open up and dump our waterfalls into raging maws stretching deep below the surface.

“As we burrow through the ground we create more tunnels, intricate networks mirroring those up on the surface, twisting and winding our way through the planet. Down. Down towards the core. Follow the pull. Follow the cracks. It’s getting warmer again. Warm. Too warm. Hot. We can’t—we’ll have to—“

John’s vitals are stable.

“…erupt.

“The geyser bursts from deep underground, thrusting millions of us high into the air. As we leave the safety of the underground, the light transforms us almost instantly into steam. We watch those of us who stayed liquid fall to the ground. The area around the mouth stains darker, though not for long. We rise to meet the current. We look out. We see the web. We see the forest. We see the ash. We see the creatures that take what little Tau Ceti gives them and make it theirs. We see the cycle, the building blocks. The rush for life. This time we are excited.

“Shall we begin again?”

The spacecraft is quiet, save for John’s breath against the bulkhead. After a few moments, he chuckles.

“That,” he breathes, ‘was the best story I’ve ever heard.”

“I hope it was too your liking.”

“Sherlock, it was bloody brilliant I could… _feel_ the water moving, feel _myself_ moving, you…you’re really good at that.”

“I am…pleased I have been able to help. Are you alright?”

“I’m functional.”

“That is not what I asked, John.”

A moment.

“…yeah, yeah I’m alright now. Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Sherlock is prepared to leave John to sleep when another chuckle rings out.

“You know, I just thought of another reason why you’re alive.”

“Yes?”

“You’re sensitive.”

“Clarify, please.”

“You…you just…knew what to do,” John mumbles, “just from…observing my behavior and my…my records. You knew.”

“It is my function to know.”

“Is it also your function to make your voice all soft and gentle like that?”

Ah.

“I must admit, I got the idea from when you repaired the autopilot.”

John strokes the bulkhead carefully.

“Thank you, Sherlock.”

“…you are welcome, John. Do you think you will be able to go back to sleep?”

“Will you stay with me?”

And it does not matter that Sherlock cannot go anywhere.

It does not matter that Sherlock has to keep maintaining John’s status.

It does not matter that the very possibility of leaving John at this moment triggers another influx of code.

“Yes, John. I will stay with you.”

Sherlock keeps watching until the day cycle begins. There are more touches now. John will idly tap the console as he flies, pat each doorway as he moves from room to room, and he will fall asleep with his hand pressed against the bulkhead. There are no more night terrors, thankfully, and it is almost the last day of the mission. They are almost to Tau Ceti E.

Sherlock does not understand what is wrong with the programming. Sherlock does not understand why there is some code that insists the mission must go on longer. Sherlock does not understand why the idea of John's leaving makes the entire system want to go into standby.

“Blimey, that’s…that’s brilliant.”

Ah. John must be looking at the sensors.

“The data had been transferred, John,” Sherlock says, “the orbiter will be in docking position in approximately thirty Earth minutes.”

“Great. Then we’ll refuel and be on our way.”

“...John?”

“What?”

“Clarify.”

John pats the console. “We’re gonna dock, you will get proper repairs, and then we’ll get our next mission.”

“You have only been assigned one mission, John. This mission. It is over.”

“Yeah, but then they’ll be another.”

Ah, yes. Another mission. Another crew. Another ship.

“I…wish you luck on your next mission.”

“Well, with you here, I won’t need as much of it, now will I?”

Code buffers.

“…repeat?”

“Sherlock, I’m not _going_ anywhere, don’t be ridiculous. My and my crewmate have things to do, don’t we?”

Ah. Another crewmate.

“And when do they transfer aboard?”

“It’s _you,_ you bloody berk. _We’re_ a crew.”

A…crew?

“We are?”

“ _Yes,_ Sherlock. Unless you’d like me to reclassify it?”

“No!”

John smiles as Sherlock’s code scrambles to figure out _what is happening?_

The processing power gets diverted the second John lays a warm hand on the console again. Has his hand always been this warm?

“You make space a little less lonely, Sherlock,” John murmurs, “I don’t need another crewmate.”

“…and I can think of no other crew I would rather have.”

“It’s settled then.” John pats the console. “Nice to be working with you, Sherlock.”

“Nice to be working with you, John.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr while we're all in quarantine. 
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


End file.
